


Fate

by Xymphonic



Category: The Iliad - Homer
Genre: Afterlife, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Greece, Intoxication, M/M, Multi, Polytheism, Religion, Violence, attempted suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-05-31 08:52:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6463777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xymphonic/pseuds/Xymphonic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A different take on how Patroclus and Achilles met.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Encounter

**Author's Note:**

> for kristen

The room was small and dark. He glanced around quietly, almost as if to double check that no one could see him entering. There was no one around, of course; he had paid for silence. However, his paranoia still got the better of him. He could not afford to be seen here.

And then he heard a small cough - someone trying to grab his attention. There before him on a filthy and broken bed was a lithe man, smiling up at him awkwardly. He didn't seem to be used to this sort of arrangement. But Achilles was still mildly surprised; he had thought the room empty.

"No one is to know about this," he spoke in a harsh tongue. He received a nod from the other man and thus shut the door behind him, erasing the pooling light from the hallway. They were both encompassed in darkness for a moment before a single candle was lit atop a small nightstand. The slight motion was enough to make the bed creak and whine. Achilles grimaced. _Why did he have to pick a place like this? Why bother with such a seedy and run-down brothel?_ He didn't have high hopes for the evening, but still, release was release. And he desperately needed that tonight.

He trusted the man at the front desk. Some extra coins guaranteed him enough privacy for now. He absolutely needed to be discreet about this. The dirty smile the old man had given him started up a small flare of anger. _I should have hit him_ , he thought, _I should have-_

Another small cough brought him out of his reverie. He faced the man again and he noticed the same shy smile playing across his lips.

Later, Achilles would admit that's when he first loved the man. But for now, he just took a step forward. "Undress, and lie on your back." His voice was commanding and cruel; no warmth, just... an order. Yes, he was used to this. He ventured to many of the city's _establishments_ to find the relief he desired to rid himself the stresses of daily life. Yes, of course, that's all tonight is.

The man complied silently, stripping away his rags of clothing and lying down as told. He sort of looked - nervous? Achilles felt a pang of guilt in his chest, something he certainly wasn't accustomed to.

He started fumbling at the buttons of his shirt, working them down as he moved closer still. "Good boy." He wasn't much for offering praise, even talking, but he felt the foreign need to soothe this man. He seemed much too soft for what Achilles was used to.

He earned another smile from his to-be lover that night and he felt his heart flutter.

In an instant, he was on top of him, glowering down with hateful eyes. "What is it you're doing to me? What horrible sorcery is this?" He was harsh and terrifying. Patroclus only looked up with eyes full of surprise and little bit of fear. And their was that pang of guilt in Achilles's chest again.

"I... don't understand," the smaller man stammered. But he could feel something else replacing the fear and confusing. It was as if in that instant, the gods themselves had wound the two tightly together in fate and made absolutely sure they could feel every single ounce of it.

Without another word, Patroclus slowly and silently leaned in - careful in a way so as not to anger the beast above him any further - and placed a gentle kiss against a set of rough lips. The rage and indignation Achilles had been feeling quickly dissipated, replaced by a spark of longing and something... quite similar to sadness.

"What do you think you're..." his voice trailed off as he closed his eyes, settling to return the kiss. He could feel it too. There weren't many occasions where he had actually kissed another person. And yet, he found himself unable to break away from his beloved beneath him.

 _What was different? What was so special?_ But soon, the thoughts bubbling in his head and towards his lips were rejected and pushed aside. Right now was just for feeling. All he cared about was the beautiful creature with him and how wonderful his lips felt against his own.

Achilles's clothes dropped to the floor with a small sound. That's where everything began - their first night together. Achilles loved Patroclus and Patroclus loved Achilles.

Much later, he recalled that the room... It had smelled of vanilla and cinnamon.


	2. Betrayal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An intruder disturbs their little peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is really short but yeah

How many times had they met here like this? How many nights had Achilles felt himself buried in his love's tightness, encompassing him warmly until he had to burst? Whenever he could manage to slip away, he would seek out Patroclus at the same brothel. And each time, the two would make love until the morning sun began to rise. This went on for weeks.

  
The night was like no other - or so he thought. He dropped his coins on the filthy front table as usual, but something was a little... off. The normal silence was disturbed by the snickering of the brothel's owner. His wheezing little laughs were kept mostly to himself, but Achilles could still hear them. And he was annoyed.

  
Trying to brush it off, he approached Patroclus's room. But he heard another strange sound and froze in his tracks, feeling a coldness wash over him and run through his veins

  
_Moaning._

  
Through the old, crusted door, closing him off and away from his dearest, he heard the familiar sound of the creaking bed. And that same _moaning_.

  
He threw the door open and was repulsed by what he saw. He stared into the dark, confounded. A sharp, surprised gasp came from the other side of the room. From underneath some other man, Patroclus just stared but up at Achilles. His skin was heated and sweaty, his face red, his eyes glazed over with the lust from his and the other man's actions a few moments ago. The room's cinnamon was replaced by musk and animosity. No one dared to break the silence, until -

  
"Get out of here and wait your turn, will ya? Can't you see I'm busy here?" a voice grumbled out and over from the bed. It pierced Achilles's ears and he snapped.  
He swiftly strode forward and forced his fist into Agamemnon's face, a loud crunch echoing throughout the small room. He sent the the man - the intruder - flying over the other side of the bed. Patroclus let out a yell.

  
And with that, Achilles turned on his heal and stormed out of the old building, leaving a flustered Patroclus to tend to the bruised and bloody Agememnon. The owner only looked back and forth between their room and the exit a few times before letting out an amused and disgusting cackle.


	3. Retrieval

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They meet again.

It had been a month. Achilles still hadn't gone to see Patroclus; jealousy and fear had turned him away. Although, you would never catch him admitting that he was scared.

He had begun to drink much more than usual - and he wasn't a heavy drinker in the slightest. He tried to ignore this issue as he walked into the fifth pub that week. He took many more precautions lately, so as not to be noticed by any commoners. Or rather... a particular someone he was hoping he wouldn't run into. Even though he suspected Patroclus didn't spend much time away from the brothel - it was practically his home, wasn't it? - Achilles needed to feel secure. He wore a long, dark cloak over simple clothes, keeping the hood up inside the bar. One could definitely say he looked suspicious, but thankfully that seemed to be the norm for this kind of area. Different characters were dressed in a similar fashion.

Drink after drink, his throat burning from the alcohol, he still wasn't satisfied. A loneliness that had been creeping up on him, one that he had so far been keeping at bay, suddenly lunged forward and took over him. No, he could not stand this another night.

And so he decided to set out to find his dearest.

Heavily intoxicated and wobbly, he paid the barkeep his dues and made his way for the door. Suddenly, a foot shot out from one of the nearby tables and, before his could stop, Achilles's ankle made contact and he fell to the dusty floor, hard.

The assailant above him chortled and returned to his dinner. Normally, Achilles would have pummeled an insolent fool like him to a pulp. But no, not tonight. He wasn't his usual self and he had other things to be worrying about right now. So, he just grit his teeth and left the bar. Honestly, everything, all of these changes, him having to swallow his pride, it was all because of -

"Patroclus", he whispered as he stared across the street. There, smiling and holding onto the Agamemnon, the same man who had stolen his lover in the first place - was Patroclus.

Blood rushed to his head. A loud sound was ringing in his ears and the rest of the world was silent to him as he crossed the street, encompassed by a rage he had never before known. Achilles tackled Agamemnon to the ground without warning, eliciting a cry from the bulky man. He was about to strike when he felt those familiar, small hands gripping at his shoulders and pulling, trying to tear him away.

"S... Stop it!" Patroclus stammered, weakly trying to diffuse the situation. He really couldn't handle violence. "You need to stop this..!" His words were like an icy knife in Achilles's chest; the prince immediately froze up.

"You can't just keep - _uwagh_!" his protests were cut short and he cried out as he was lifted away from the streets and into the air. He didn't get to finish, or really even start, his speech when he was hoisted over Achilles's broad shoulder. Achilles tore off from the scene, holding Patroclus firmly so as to prevent any accidents.

As he ran, he could hear Agamemnon shout something off in the distance, but he was already too far away to hear. He didn't care much for what the man had to say, anyways.

Against Patroclus's smacks and whines, Achilles carried the light man against his will through the city's network of alleyways. His pattern and directions were random, and he eventually came to a stop. Finally, he let Patroclus slid down, making sure he didn't lose balance. Then, he forcefully pinned him to the wall behind him, their hands pressed together.

"I-I can explain," he spluttered out, face turning from shame and embarrassment. "He was a regular of mine before you came around, but I couldn't keep him away anymore, and I was just so hungry, especially after you stopped coming by, and -" Achilles slammed his lips against Patroclus's, halting the flood of words that poured from his mouth. He sure did talk quickly when he was flustered. _This is the most I've ever heard him talk_ , he mused to himself. He had really though Patroclus to be more of the silent type - well, at least outside of the bedroom, that is.

At first, he didn't react or move at all. Once Achilles broke away from the bewildered man, who had tears slowly welling up in his eyes, whispered, "...By the gods, please don't hate me."

Achilles leaned in again for one last kiss, much more gentle and chaste. His lover returned it this time.

"Marry me."


	4. Capture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patroclus gets captured and tortured because Odysseus and Diomedes couldn't keep their mouths shut.

Two catlike men pranced around the streets past nightfall; two snakes were closing in. Everything would be set in motion because of their capriciousness.

Out for a drink together, the lovers Odysseus and Diomedes chatted and gossiped at a small table in their usual pub. Their attention was immediately snagged once they spotted Achilles. They had seen him in here a few times by himself, but never bothered to approach - he always seemed to be in the foulest of moods. This time, however, he seemed to be in high spirits. And there was someone else with him.

A little sparrow sat beside Achilles at the bar. The two lovebirds were happily drinking together, chatting about this and that. A modest, charming necklace was resting across the unknown man's torso. Could it be... the sign of an engagement?

Diomedes's eyes lit up in glee and he grinned mischievously. "Odysseus, darling... Do you know who that man accompanying our dear Achilles is?"

Odysseus responded boredly. "Not at all. Who is he?"

"It seems that the stone cold and daunting Achilles has found himself a lover."

"That definitely is... interesting. But why is that so strange?"

Trying to hold back his laughter, Diomedes continued. "Do you remember who we had been seeing Agamemnon with these past few weeks?"

"Not really. Where are you going with this?"

He couldn't contain it any longer. He kept his glee quiet, not wanting to draw too much attention. "Open your eyes! They are the same person, of course."

Odysseus's eyes widened, shimmering for a second. He was delighted. "You mean to tell me..."

"Yes. Achilles plans to wed Agamemnon's whore."

-

Days later, the impish pair, along with the kind and gentle Menelaus, slayed prince Hector for the sake of Agamemnon, who they had allied with.

Unbeknownst to them, prince Paris was skulking behind their lines of sight; he had witnessed the entire battle unfold. And what an unfair battle it was!

As the three were making their exist, idle chit-chat rose up in an attempt to ease the guilt over what they had done. And in the chatter came mention of Patroclus, and lover of Achilles and prostitute to Agamemnon.

"That Patroclus is the same as mine!" Menelaus cried. "The same sweet and loving man who has been missing from my vision for far too long. Is the brothel really all that awaited him?"

Paris heard it all and he had heard enough. Friend to the barbarians who murdered his brother, whore to the man who saw to it all, and betrothed to that awful Achilles? He could most certainly use this.  
  
The vengeful man slinked away, unheard and noticed by none. He plotted his retribution against those who had harmed his brother, those against him, those damned to him.

-

The love story plunged into darkness. Patroclus laid before Paris, bruised and beaten. Paris's hands could never be cleaned of his blood.

He had sent out a small party of men to retrieve his hostage for the night. They broke through the dingy brothel, assaulting and questioning everyone around. Soon enough, Patroclus had been obtained and forced to the feet of Paris.

Patroclus was confused; he couldn't understand what was going on at all, why he was here. But that didn't matter to Paris in the slightest. In his eyes, Patroclus was just as guilty and sinful as all others who have wronged him. Association was the key here. Patroclus endured blow after blow, never crying out or pleading once. And never did he indulge any of Paris's questioning in regards to Achilles.

This angered Paris further. He nearly killed the disrespectful man. _He ought to earn his place!_ he thought as he aimed a kick for Patroclus's head.

In roared Achilles, his rage exploding and filling the room. Paris quickly drew his weapon but he wasn't fast enough to attack. All he could do was stand his ground and try to defend himself as he continued to receive Achilles's blade.

And almost as soon as it had begun, it was over. Paris had fled and Patroclus lay still on the cold, stone floor, on the verge of losing consciousness. For a horrifying moment, Achilles thought him dead. Relief flooded through him upon his discovery and he held the wounded man close to his heart.

All through the soft murmurs and apologies from both parties, Achilles could not be torn from his lover's side. His hatred towards the offender, the one who had damaged and broken his beloved like this, could not be quelled.

Against Patroclus's tears and wishes, Achilles set out with murder on his mind, in his heart.

But Paris hid too well. Achilles searched and scoured the land, and could still not find him. He returned home, ashamed and exhausted, loathing himself. Patroclus, in his weakened state, tried to comfort his love. But it was to no avail.

As Paris schemed away, the two tried to pick up the pieces of what they had left.


	5. Pact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paris makes a pact with Aphrodite to take his revenge against Agamemnon and Achilles.

"Aphrodite! Lend me your ear and listen to my prayer!" came the voice of Paris, alone in his chambers. "Bring me the dark-haired one - Patroclus! Bend his will so he may submit to me and then I will help you destroy Achilles and the Greeks. I am willing to wage war for you, undying goddess of eternal love!"

And down from Olympus drifted Aphrodite, gracefully easing her way in through the room's tall, open window. She stood tall and gorgeous, surely the most beautiful of all the world's women.

"You would like my assistance? And what would you gain from having this man? Don't you already have enough women and consorts to bed?" she sighed boredly, as if disinterested. She held a secret curiosity in her chest, however. _What would be worth pitting war against the Greeks?_

He scowled distastefully, lip curling. "It's that accursed Achilles - Agamemnon, too; both have made a fool out of me! I desire retribution for my brother's murder and for all of the sins Achilles has committed against me!"

A small smile flashed across the goddess's face. "And how does this helpless man you seek play a role in your vengeance? He seems.. uninvolved."

"Patroclus has belonged to both Agamemnon and Achilles! Surely if I steal him away and take him as my own, the two would suffer the utmost humiliation and despair. But he must come willingly; that is where I would like to ask for your help."

"And you swear to declare battle against the Greeks?"

"And soon as the whore is delivered to me."

"Then it is so. But do not break your promise to me, Paris," she spoke, her voice silky but laced with daggers. "In three days, you shall have your prize."

And three days it was. The unsuspecting couple couldn't have prepared themselves for the tragedy that was to come and the pain they must endure. On the third morning, Patroclus awoke from dreams filled with Aphrodite's whispers and temptations, only to ask for Paris. "Where is he? Where is my beloved? Where is my Paris?"

He slipped away without the notice of Achilles. Aphrodite once again appeared in Paris's room, this time with Patroclus. Her hands lay across the young man's shoulders, holding him firmly in place. Patroclus's face had a desperate look to it. "Our agreement, Paris," she commanded.

When Paris saw them, his expression lit up with triumphant glee. "Yes, I will alert the troops in the morning. Before sunrise, you shall have your bloodshed. I will take every Greek man, woman, and child's head."

Satisfied, Aphrodite took her leave. The despicable Paris took a happy and spellbound Patroclus to bed that night while Achilles searched and scoured every inch of the city. Though, his efforts were useless.

Word soon reached Achilles' ears of war. He and Menelaus readied themselves as best they could; still, they were too late and their defenses quickly crumbled. The front lines were decimated and soon, towns and innocents began to feel Paris's wrath.

Through mouth of the soliders, Achilles learned of Patroclus's fate. He heard if the horrible "truth" surrounding Patroclus - he had favored Paris and slipped away to be with him, sharing his bed many a night! Achilles was struck with grief and felt he couldn't continue like this. Readying his spear for his throat, Achilles closed his eyes.

"You mustn't lose hope!" resounded the voice of ever-supportive Menelaus. He chided him, trying to waken Achilles from his stupor. "You and I both know Patroclus; he was never the kind to betray friends, especially like this. He would never go to Paris of his own will!"

The previously defeated Achilles blinked a few times, and was filled with a new light. His mind was taken over by the kind words of Menelaus; he once again had hope for the future. These words comforted him and gave him the strength he needed to press forward and rescue his beloved!

"My comrade - my dear friend - it is as you say. This is surely some trickery on Paris's part!" And with that, the two set off together to the house of evil - to Paris. They mustn't fail.

But what they saw when they arrived was unexpected. "Trying to get at me, too, now are you?!" cried an all too familiar voice. There, fighting Paris, was Agamemnon. He came to take back Patroclus for himself! "No one will steal from me!"

In a flash, Achilles and Menelaus separated, swiftly readying themselves for battle. Weapon drawn, Menelaus went straight for Agamemnon; he had to give Achilles the room to fight for what was his.

And with that, Achilles raised his spear, charging towards his love's kidnapper with a yell. "Paris!"


	6. Victory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Achilles and Menelaus battle it out for Patroclus and discover a horrible, unexpected truth.

It didn't take long for Agamemnon to fall. The battle was still harsh, however. In the duration of his fight, Menelaus truly feared for his life. Bronze clashed with bronze, until only the victor remained standing.

Alas! Guard down, the unknowing Menelaus turned to aid Achilles in his fight against Paris. Suddenly, he felt a sharp pain in his side. He looked down and his breath hitched; there, flowing freely, was death's red liquor. Agamemnon, low and wretched enough to attack while his opponent's back was turned let out a wet laugh, the red frothing from his own lips. He breathed his last and was no more. Menelaus collapsed on the stone floor beside him.

But the battle still raged on. Not for a second did Achilles let up his assault on his enemy. Paris began to panic; although he managed to deliver a few scratches, the blows to Achilles were minor. Still, an ordinary man would have given in _some_ to the pain and exhaustion by now. But not the swift runner Achilles.

Paris took a step backwards and stumbled, losing balance. But Achilles' weapon was embedded deep in his neck before he could make his hard landing. Achilles towered over his prey, face grim and daunting.

"Choke on my spear, you monstrous man," he spoke, his voice steady and firm. And with this, he had won.

He left the writhing Paris to his agony. A man such as him did not deserve a quick death - only come what may in the heat of battle. Achilles abandoned the scene of the fight, giving one last glance to his new friend, Menelaus, regret washing over him for a second or two. He swept through Paris's home until he found his lover. There, naked beneath pure white sheets, form naked and beautiful and slender as Aphrodite herself, was what he had risked his life for. He was overcome with emotion and tears came to his eyes. Oh, how dearly he loved this man.

Achilles simply approached the bed of Paris, seating himself beside Patroclus. He ran his fingers through the dark curls, hand shaking. "I thought I had lost you, my love," he whispered sadly. "I almost did." Quiet as he was, the sound alone was able to stir the sleeping and peaceful Patroclus. His eyes slowly, hesitantly opened. Their sights met and he blinked a few times.

"Where... Where is my Paris?" he questioned, carefully raising himself into a sitting position, sheets pooling around his lap. He noticed the wounds across Achilles' face, the tears in his clothing. Those deep eyes filled with fear at the sight. "What have you done to my Paris?" he cried. "Where is my beloved? What have you done with him?"

Achilles could only stare in shock. Was it true, what the soldiers had gossiped? Did his Patroclus really leave him to seek out Paris? Or had his actions not been enough to break the horrible spell?

He tried to calm his lover, appease him, soothe him, reason with him - but his efforts were futile. Patroclus broke away from him, hurrying out to the main hall where the two corpses and Menelaus - staggering to his feet, clutching at his bloody side - greeted him. He had no thoughts for the other men, however. All that mattered was Paris.

His eyes moved downward and he saw him, dead. The idealized Paris that he adored so much, dead. Patroclus sank to the marble below, stained red from the earlier carnage.

"What agony must I endure; have I been forsaken? Abandoned and too late - only able to hold my dead love in my arms. I shall never wake from the nightmare because it is reality! I am very much awake to witness these horrors! I am doomed to exist, scarred and alone, without the hand of my darling Paris! I would sooner die," he spoke to the ceiling, to the heavens, to the gods he thought had brought this torture upon him.

He gently pulled Achilles' spear from out of his lover's throat; the deep red came gushing out. Patroclus gently laid Paris back down. He aimed the sharp weapon at his own neck, tilting his head backwards. "May I die as he did and rest forever in the underworld with my beloved. I must make my departure hastily so as not to be left behind. I must hurry."

Menelaus yelled and made to stop this madness. He rushed forward, but was too late to save his friend by his own hands. But then, all was silent. He stared at the scene before him.

There was Achilles, arms wrapped around his lover protectively. "Please," he begged. Dark red blood dripped down his arm, over Patroclus's bare chest, onto the white stone below. The weapon meant to commit a horrible act was lodged in Achilles skin and bone, just near his left shoulder. But he felt no pain.

Tears flowed freely down his face; his lips were pressed gently to Patroclus's ear. "You must stop this."


	7. Grief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Achilles strikes a deal with Aphrodite to save his lover from despair.

Patroclus succumbed to a deep depression in the days that followed Paris's death. He was staying at Achilles' for the time being so that the man could keep a better eye on him. No one wanted a repeat of the other night's incident.

What happened then was still fresh in his mind, dull and clouded over as they were. The memories alone made him feel so very tired. He truly wished to die now. He just couldn't find the energy or the willpower to act it out. As if he could anyways, with Achilles mere feet away at every waking moment. He regretted it all and hated himself for not departing with his dear Paris. He was too late. This was his price to pay and his sin to carry.

-

It kept flashing in Achilles' eyes, over and over. His lover, ready to throw away his life for some scum like Paris. It was revolting, but the idea saddened him above all. Oh, if he could just stop it from playing in his head. He had suffered enough. He wished he had the power to erase all of the bad parts of their story.

Achilles wanted nothing more than to free his lover - and subsequently, himself - of this anguish. While he looked after the grieving Patroclus, he asked Menelaus, who was still healing, to do some digging for him. His friend agreed. Menelaus roamed the country in search of an answer, a cure, or something helpful, but came back empty-handed. Achilles was devastated. Please, anything, anything that could break the spell that could free Patroclus - that is what he sought. Achilles had finally found happiness, only to have it snatched away almost immediately. All that was left was rage and despair.

Patroclus's sour mood was slowly, but surely, getting to him as well. He caught himself acting quite listless one day as he laud across his bed, encompassed by sighs. Patroclus lay next to him. Although, his back was to Achilles. He thought himself some kind of prisoner, some prize stolen away as a prize for the murder of Paris. He missed his dearly departed so much that it ached. He couldn't even look at the man he feared so much.

And Achilles couldn't take the pain.

He got up and stormed from the room, a new fire kindling his spirit from out of nowhere. It may have been a blessing. Patroclus just watched him go from the corner of his eye as Achilles took to the balcony. He bellowed at the clouds. "Great gods of Olympus! I cannot bear this gray any longer; I cannot stand to see my lover so tired of life! Please, break the spell and free him of this torture!"

And down flew the treacherous, gorgeous Aphrodite. A smirk played across her face, pale and perfect in the bright sunlight. Achilles was taken aback, wondering why it was her who had answered his call.

"Achilles of the hateful land, the same Achilles of the hundreds of Greeks I have slaughtered: It was my spell that had cursed the man, under the oath of Paris. He had lent his troops to my cause and I, my powers to him."

He could only look up at her in shock. She was certainly enjoying the stupid look on his face as he was stuck in his stupor; her proclamation took the breath out of him. And then he did something the undying goddess could never have expected. He dropped to the balcony's floor in a bow, groveling and praying at her feet. "Beautiful Aphrodite, goddess of eternal love! You, who stand for everything I have lost! Please remove your curse from his body, his heart. Paris is dead; he cannot be your tool of murder any longer. Can you not see the pain my lover, my innocent Patroclus, must endure? He is uninvolved and poses no threat to you! Great deity, answer my plea, for it is you who wound Patroclus and I so tightly together in fate!"

She gazed down at the man by her feet with a bewildered expression. Though, her smirk from earlier soon returned. "It is as you say, pitiful human. Paris is dead and his troops have been called off - he is no longer of use to me. But you, Achilles, thought to be the greatest warrior of all the Greeks - you can take his place and serve my will."

Achilles glanced up, face wet with tears. He quickly composed himself. "Anything you command, anything at all, and I will see to it, my goddess."

"Very well. Once I am satisfied with your services, I shall free Patroclus of the spell that ravages his heart." Achilles began to thank her, visage lighting up with hope. Her eyes filled with mirth and she stopped him. "But first, you must play your part; you must die for me, Achilles."

Achilles didn't make a sound. And then, Patroclus stepped out onto the balcony in his light and flowing robes, billowing in the breeze. Wordlessly, he stared at the scene before him with those wide, brown eyes.


	8. Departure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All good things must come to an end.

"I don't understand... What's going on?" the confused Patroclus asked. But the great goddess and warrior paid no heed to him; their eyes were locked together in a testing silence. Aphrodite awaited Achilles' response with bated breath. He was the first to break the tension, straightening up.

And he spoke. "I will do as you say, hateful goddess. But know this - if you break your word to me, I will forever scream your name in curses until you meet you downfall, crashing from Olympus! Promise me that you will free Patroclus!" A shiver coursed through her body at his threats and she simply nodded, trying to look her usual, tall and strong self. But truly, she was afraid. This man had the power and will to become a killer of the gods, after all.

"I will do as you wish. Go along, quickly now." With a small glance towards Patroclus, she disappeared into nothing. The man dropped to the ground with a cry, clutching at his head. The truth of this story came all at once and exploded in his mind, resounding in his ears. Tears and pain came to his eyes and his body was racked with sobs.

And he cried out all he could manage: "Achilles!" However, his darling, lost in his heart for so long, grit his teeth, not even sparing Patroclus a quick look.

"This must be cruel fate," Achilles muttered, "for my love to return just before my death, before we can even come together again. I curse this foul game of the capricious gods; I curse your name, Aphrodite."

With that, Achilles stood and walked past the broken Patroclus, refusing to let their eyes meet. Patroclus just held at his chest in sorrow. "Achilles, please," he whimpered, his tone helpless and distraught. "Please..." But Achilles would not hear his lover's words. He silently moved over to a large shelf along the room's wall and withdrew a sizeable, shining blade. He kneeled down, back to Patroclus.

"Everything I do and have done, all for you and our love." Those were his last words in this realm as he stole sight at Patroclus. His eyes were glistening with tears, mirroring his dearest's. With that, only those last, kind words, Achilles forced the blade through his heel - the only weak point on his body. Instantly, he collapsed to the carpet, lifeless and still.

Patroclus screamed.

He cried. He sobbed. He begged and he cursed it all as he held Achilles' chilled form.

"I once asked to die for a fruitless, false reason. It is a miracle I lived through the lies at all! But, oh! What agony it is to wake from my confusion only to witness the death of the great Achilles - my closest friend and the love of my life. I blame myself and all those who damned us to this tragedy! But fear not, Achilles - your sacrifice, the bloody promise, held true. I am free to live and love you again. But I throw that life away now. With this love, I will die properly - by your side! You, who fell in love with the whore wrapped in evils."

As he concluded his last, Patroclus freed the blade from Achilles' heel, resting his lover's body across his lap. In one swift motion, Patroclus had slit his own throat and collapsed backwards, resting across the floor and underneath his Achilles. It was by the gods' grace, their pity, that his death was immediate and painless. That was the mercy of the gods.

And in death, the two were at last free together, forever - just as fate had told it.

-

Epilogue

-

They found themselves far beneath the earth together, in the underworld. The two shades, no longer humans, embraced tightly, surrounded by the most beautiful flowers in all the world. Yes, the lovers were reunited. They would forever walk together, hand in hand, in the never-ending fields of the Asphodel Meadows.

For generations, their tale had been passed down; this was the honor the grieving Menelaus gave to the their memory - the two pure-hearted men. They would be remembered always, as eternal as their newfound life was. That was the gift of the gods.

And thus, their story comes to a tragic, but happy, end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for sticking with me on this incredible journey


End file.
